


Help!

by SilverMaxwell (Endless_beginnings)



Category: Help! (1965), The Beatles (Band)
Genre: (ringo gets hurt in chap 3, and drama and brotherly love, and more eppy!, oops), this will be great, we are improving this movie, we are loving ringo more, we are world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-02-16 04:39:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18684334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endless_beginnings/pseuds/SilverMaxwell
Summary: In a temple hidden near the coast of the Arabian Sea, a small group of cultists are dismayed to find an important tool missing for their yearly ritual sacrifice. Backstage in a London venue, one of the world's most famous drummers receives a mystery package from a fan— a ruby red ring. With the cult closing in and the ring seemingly having a mind of its own, it's only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.(A rewrite of Help! to fix plot inconsistencies, poor scripting, racism, and general lack of Ringo love.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> me and ineedyoubygeorgeharrison are working on this story together and so far its turning out amazingly! hopefully i'll be able to get another chapter soon.  
> edit: nowandthenoldfriend on tumblr has become the beta-reader for this fic! so i'd like to thank them for doing this

“Boys! I’ve got some things for you.”

Four heads looked up in unison. Brian Epstein walked in, carrying a rather large cardboard box, placing it on the center table located in their dressing room. “I’ve got some fanmail for you all to go through.”

Paul, sitting in a chair off to the side and tuning his bass guitar, gestured his head towards the overflowing box.

“Eppy, we’re set to perform in an hour. Why now?”

“Usually you don’t even want us to loll about before a performance,” John muttered as he reached for a letter, glancing at the handwriting briefly before passing it off to George.

Brian sighed as he slipped his hands into his suit pant pockets.

“I know, I know, but you four have to finish recording that album in a few days,” he gestured to the box, “And since I won’t be around for that, I’m making sure you guys at least get the fanmail done, one less thing to worry about.”

“And where are you goin’?” Ringo piped up from the back of the room.

“Off to help my parents with their business. Won’t be gone for more than a week.” The older man moved back his sleeve to check his watch.

“You boys have hardly an hour to go through as much as you can,” Brian headed towards the door, “Mal will pick them up later. I will see you all after the performance.” With that, their manager left.

Their bassist stood, resting his instrument against the wall and heading towards the couch George and John shared, with Ringo not too far behind.

“Hopefully someone’s sent snacks,” George laughed as he began to reach for a package this time. Their near-hour slipped by quickly as the repetitive words of adoration blended together.

Then there was a bang at the door, followed by a yell of, “Five minutes!”

Ringo blinked out of his fanmail-induced trance, having finished reading what was definitely another love letter. He uncurled from the side of the couch he had claimed and sat up. 

Beside his feet their lead guitarist stood up from the floor, having migrated there at some point. George stretched out his long legs and dusted off the crumbs from some biscuits a fan had sent (much to the young man’s delight.)

“Well, we went through most of them,” George stated. Paul nodded as he shook out the tightness in his wrist from signing his tenth poster.

John, Paul, and George began to straighten themselves out, Paul heading to the nearest reflective surface and John to the bathroom. Ringo was about to check himself over as well when one of the remaining packages caught his eye.

It sat on the table next to the tipped over cardboard box, his name written over it in big, enticing red lettering. 

Curiosity getting the best of him, the drummer disregarded what little time they had left and reached for the box no bigger then his hand. He fumbled with the packaging in his haste, revealing its contents: a small felt box and an even smaller note.

Opening the note with one hand, Ringo could see that it simply read, ‘Be careful with this – Alika.’ Confused, he reached for the felt box and opened it, his eyes widening.

Inside was a very large, and very  _ expensive _ looking ring. A very large, red rock connected to a simple golden band. Wrapped around the red stone was a shimmery silver crescent shape made from some kind of other stone, and the whole bit rested on a larger gold disc that was decorated with small metal bumps, like a ribbon wrapped around wire.

Who would even send him something like this?

A  small “wow” came behind him. Ringo turned around to see Paul looking over his shoulder.

“Is that a real ruby?” George came over as well, eyebrows raised.

“No idea…” he answered truthfully. It was pretty, that much was certain.

“Oi, John! Someone sent Ritchie a real fancy ring!” Paul called out as he headed back over to his bass, John giving a muffled, “Really?” in reply from the other room.

As George left to do whatever, Ringo sat down the fan’s package and carefully pulled the ring out of its box. The drummer immediately noticed how heavy it was, and as he held it up against the light it glittered impressively. He admired it briefly, before taking off one of his simpler rings and swapping it for the large red jewel.

He slowly wiggled his fingers, feeling how it seemed to weigh his ring finger down just a bit. Ringo realized with dismay that if he kept this ring on for the entire performance, he would definitely have trouble drumming with it!

He tugged at it.

The ring did not budge.

He tugged at it a little bit harder.

The ring only seemed to grow tighter.

He tugged again.

And again.

On his fifth attempt at pulling off the stone he came to the realization that it was very, very,  _ very _ stuck.

Before Ringo could alert his situation to the others, Mal came bursting into their room. “Alright, it’s time for all of you to go on.” The other three made a beeline for the exit.

“But — “

“Come on, Ritch! We don’t want to be late!” Paul shoved playfully at his shoulder as he followed behind the others, breaking into a brisk jog.

Ringo sighed in defeat, before heading out with the others. Looks like he’d have to tough it out for this show. Hopefully, it wouldn’t affect his performance too badly.

He’d just have to get it off later.

Somewhere else, at the same moment, a cult is coming to the realization that a crucial part of their sacrificial ritual is missing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cult takes action to get that ring back. Ringo gets bitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'd like to thank ineedyoubygeorgeharrison for help on what to right and nowandthenoldfriend for betaing and adding in some bits to improve the quality of writing!
> 
> I also want to add that I may divert somewhat from the film, I'll be taking away and adding some scenes to have it go more smoothly and make more sense.

Reaching the status of national fame as a band had their music playing and voices heard in any and all places.

From portable radios on the beach and vinyls playing at a record shop, to them performing on a television set in the average home. The Beatles were everywhere imaginable.

 

...Even so, you would have never expected to hear their voices echoing off the walls of this stone temple.

 

_ “Help me if you can, I’m feeling do-o-own...” _

 

Whispers from a sea of people across the temple could be heard. Men and women alike, wearing gold crowns and white garbs amongst others wearing simpler white outfits, mingled as they murmured about the delay of a very important event.

 

_ “And I do appreciate you being ro-o-ound...” _

 

A sacrifice.

 

_ “Help me get my feet back on the gro-o-ound… _

 

_ Won’t you ple-e-ease _

 

_ please  _

_ help me?” _

 

In the middle of the temple, in front of the statue of their ten-armed deity, a projector had been hastily set up and currently played a  _ very  _ recent performance of four young men. As the camera changed every so often to focus on one of the four, the center of attention was on the drummer. More specifically, the large gold and ruby ring adorning his finger.

 

Sat in front of the projector was the head ‘priest’; an older man dressed in a solid gold collar adorned in little jewels and a white robe. As the music played on, a look of anger and mild disgust set on his face. Beside him was a trusted member of the cult, wearing a similar outfit, save for the jewels.

 

“I honestly don’t know her reasoning for giving away that ring,” the priest huffed as he shot a glare to a woman in red, laying upon the engraved altar. The woman in question wasn't paying him any mind, her attention dedicated to the four young men playing on the screen, the adoration clear in her eyes.

 

“Teens these days! They don’t take smaller, independent cults like us seriously anymore,” the man beside him answered.

 

“Clang!” A young woman's voice called out to the leader.

 

The lead priest, Clang turned to see the only other Priestess dressed to the nines in gold run in, waving a red brochure.

 

“Ahme,” Clang began, “The necessary preparations for my departure...?”

 

“Are made,” Ahme confirmed with a nod.

 

“At once, without delay,” the man beside Clang added as he stood.

 

The other two followed the priest towards the steps to the exit of the temple, “The ring,” the older man breathed in exasperation, “Over the water...and I must go fetch it myself...” Clearly, Clang could not trust anyone else to lead an expedition this important. They lost the damn ring on the way here!

 

Clang turned to the lesser adorned of the three. Supposedly his right-hand man, and for that purpose Clang chose well: he rarely ever went against what the head priest ordered. However, it was not without its drawbacks. He rarely thought on his own. He wondered if there was a single thought in the man’s head on what to do in this situation. “Bhuta…” he started experimentally.

 

“What is it that you ask of me?” Bhuta answered, a sweeter tone to his voice. Sweet, and painfully empty of thought. Clang mentally sighed.

 

“Obedience and love.”

 

“This is so,” was Bhuta’s immediate reply, and Ahme furrowed her brows at the awkward turn of conversation. The head priest turned back to the woman.

 

“Now, Ahme, I need to immediately make plans for my departure-”

 

“They are made,” Ahme interjected, forcing a sigh away and making sure to not to make her annoyance noticeable. The man never listened to anyone unless the words contained some sort of praise for him. 

“Something must be done,” Clang continues more to himself than the others as he began to walk once again to the exit, “Without the ring there will be no sacrifice, no sacrifice means no congregation… And with no congregation, _ no more me... _ ” The last part was said quietly.

 

“This is so — ” Bhuta responded on autopilot, before realizing what he said and froze in his tracks as their leader gave him a heated glare.

The next day and an ocean away, a car parked in front of the shared home of the four Beatles.

 

The Beatles followed one another in a line as they exited the vehicle with John in front, followed by Ringo, George, then lastly Paul, who waved across the street to their neighbors as John stopped to unlock the door.

 

Upon entering their home, each Beatle went to do their own thing. Paul headed towards the piano located near his own section, George went off to read the newspaper on his bed, while John went off with a copy of his own book to his.

 

Their drummer made a beeline to the eating area, grabbing a bag of crisps as he only half-focused on Paul playing on the piano. “That’s not half bad, yanno.” The bassist shot Ringo a frisky smile and played up a few sour notes on purpose.

 

Throwing the crisps onto the nearest chair, he headed towards a strange-looking door with small transparent windows, whose sole purpose was to hold pre-made sandwiches. He lifted up the glass covering of one of the slots and reached in for a tasty treat —

 

Only to feel something pinch down hard onto his ring finger. Ringo’s shout was more one of surprise than pain, though it did start hurting when he yanked back hard at the stronghold on his hand, making a loud noise as his wrist banged against the opening of the slot.

 

Whatever it was that grabbed him disappeared as suddenly as it came with a blur of white. The drummer pulled his hand free more calmly and cradled it gently in the opposite, holding a slightly squashed sandwich victoriously. When he turned around, he was immediately greeted with the stares of the others, a questioning look from Paul and worrying looks from John and George.

“Jesus Ringo, what happened?” John put down his book as he looked him over, his eyebrows furrowed. George looked past his friend to see the drummer check out the door cautiously, as if expecting to find the cause of his distress.

 

“I dunno,” Ringo answered honestly, “It felt like someone... _ bit _ my finger.” He didn’t sound so sure, because it seemed crazy. Bite his finger? Who would do that?

 

Paul’s frown deepened as the other two exchanged a look. Ringo couldn’t blame them. “You aren’t hurt, are you?” George asked as he folded up his paper. 

 

“No, I’m fine,” Ringo reassured.

 

Outside of their home, a woman in a white cloak walked down the street, away from their apartment. Ahme sighed as she came up to two men crowded around a cart. One pretended to busy himself by fixing up an umbrella, while the other stood by rubbing his hands to warm himself in the cold evening.

 

The man at the cart looked up at Ahme expectantly. “The ring?” he asked in a hushed tone. Ahme sighed as she shook her head. 

 

“No, I could not get it off, Clang.”

 

Clang growled in disappointment as he handed Bhuta the umbrella. “We’ll have to try again later.”

 

With that, the trio left to plan their next action.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also my tumblr is silver-maxwell ! just in case anyone wants to ask anything about what I'm doing or anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some attempts are made for the Ring, the others panic and Ringo fears the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! Now we're really seeing some actually worrying by the others!  
> ineedyoubygeorgeharrison actually wrote the afterwords of Ringo falling! nowandthenoldfriend beta'd and added some great things and I'd like to welcome just-a-jealous-guy onto this fic who's been helping by giving ideas as well!  
> (Those were all their tumblrs by the way)

That night, Ringo struggled to sleep. The drummer tossed and turned every few minutes, slowly migrating around the mattress, the constant rustling of the sheets finally stopping when his head rested at the other end of the bed and his feet lay on the pillows.

 

The half-lit moon high up in the sky poured moonlight through the windows, allowing Ringo to see his hand and the enormous red jewel that rested upon it. The red ruby was spotless, smooth to the touch; the gold band that held it was in a similar condition. The jewel itself rested upon a gold plate of intricate swirls emulating a flower, and wrapped around the ruby was a glimmering opalescent crescent that resembled the moon outside.

 

It had remained in its pristine condition throughout the surprise ‘attack’ from earlier, along with the other Beatles attempts to wrench it off his finger; tweezers, a screwdriver, and a pair a salad tongs Paul had found at the bottom of the silverware drawer had all been used at some point throughout the day.

 

After having had his hand prodded and stabbed at repeatedly, Ringo had become annoyed and lost his patience. The drummer made an attempt to remove the ring with his teeth, but this only caused an ache at the roof of his mouth to form from where the jewel and gold had dug in.

 

Other than the weight, the ruby ring didn’t really bother him. The gold band didn’t pinch his finger to signify it was stuck.

 

It just _was_.

 

Ringo moved his hand and watched the ruby glitter in the light. Who had even sent him something so expensive looking? Ringo hardly believed a teenager could afford such a thing unless they were super rich… Or maybe it _had_ been a really rich individual?

 

The note that had accompanied the ring was also strange, warning him _to be careful._

 

A large, _expensive_ ruby ring sent in by a complete stranger with a warning screamed ‘bad news’ to Ringo. A heavy feeling settled at the bottom of the drummer's stomach like a cold stone as he couldn’t help but think that this was going to lead to something awful. Just looking at the thing made him feel a bit nauseous with anxiety, and he wasn’t normally the anxious type.

 

Ringo would finally fall asleep much later into the night.

 

The next two days were interesting, to say the least.

 

The first incident wasn't something he’d think twice about until much later on.

 

Ringo had walked out of the apartment and down the street towards a little shop around the corner the next morning. Ritchie had no problems walking around and shopping on his own (he had bought some dish soap and a box of biscuits for George) and exited the store with his bag of goods. It was a beautiful day, and the drummer couldn’t help but think how nice it was to be able to shop on his own without being surrounded by fans, which didn’t happen often.

 

On his way out, he passed a section of gum dispensers and other similar penny machines spread across the wall of the building. Suddenly, a new one caught his attention. It was much taller than him, painted a shiny, metallic red which indicated its new-ness, as it must have been installed very recently. Curious as ever, Ringo stopped in front of the machine. Quickly reading the instructions, it informed him that for the price of a mere penny he’d receive a printout of his weight and a horoscope for the day.

 

Shrugging to himself, Ringo shifted the bag to his other arm and rooted through his suit coat for the change he received back in the store. He had a soft spot for these penny machines, and John was always teasing him for wasting his coins on such tripe. The drummer, though, thought it was all in good fun. He placed his bag down and stood on the metal platform, pushing the penny into the slot and sticking his hand to the slot where his receipt would be printed out as he waited patiently.

 

Being a drummer required good reflexes. Having to keep up with the tempo, hitting the right drum at the right time, it required good hand-eye coordination.

 

So when Ringo saw a blur of metal coming towards his hand he immediately retracted it with a startled yelp. The man blinked owlishly at the sharp-looking, shiny length of metal sticking out of the slot he’d had his hands in front of moments before. Dare he say, it looked suspiciously like a...blade, a blade had passed by his hand with the ruby ring… He didn’t move for a moment, still feeling startled, when the blade slowly retracted back into the machine.

 

No receipt was printed for Ringo.

 

As he walked away, rather confused mind you, he found himself thinking about how it was a waste of a perfectly good penny.

 

The next day, Ringo experienced something even stranger than what had happened the afternoon previously.

 

John and Ringo were both heading to the studio to talk with George Martin about the album they would soon be recording. They made an odd pair together; usually, Paul and John would go together to talk with Mr. Martin, but that morning Paul had to go and do a chore for his father, so Ringo had offered to go with John so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

 

They walked into the building together and headed straight for the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, the two entered the small space and John pressed the button for the third floor. As soon as the elevator door closed and their box began heading up, John’s wrist was suddenly, forcefully yanked to the side as he stumbled backward. His watch had been pulled right off his wrist, and along with his keys and a lighter from his pockets, they attached themselves to the wall of the elevator.

 

Had John been alone, he would have stared in awe and confusion, then rubbed at his wrist and probably curse at what just happened. However, at that exact moment, Ringo was pulled up to the ceiling of the elevator like a rag doll by the ring on his finger, which made for a much more interesting distraction from the songwriter’s thoughts.

 

Ringo gave a startled yawp at the unexpected tug and made a failed attempt to pull his hand off the ceiling. The elevator wasn’t very tall, but his feet still just barely grazed the ground as he hung by the ring, which naturally was still stuck on his finger. Just as soon as it had started, (and before either could even react), the elevator stopped on the third floor with a ding. The doors opened, and Ringo came crashing down along with John's own things, the drummer letting out a little gasp when he hit the ground.

 

John grabbed Ringo by his shoulders and quickly pulled him up, “What the _hell—_ ” John began as he hauled Ringo out of the elevator, “—was _that?_ ” Once he had Ringo out, John swiftly grabbed his things off the floor and stuffed them back into his pockets.

 

There was a beat of silence between the two as they watched the elevator doors close, headed towards its next destination.

 

“Jesus, Ritchie, are you okay?” John turned towards the smaller Beatle who had yet to say a word.

 

“Arm’s a bit sore, other than that...I guess I’m fine.” Ringo reassured him with a shrug of his shoulders, not even realizing that he was subconsciously pulling at the ring on his finger, nervously fiddling with it.

 

“John! Richard!” The two Beatles turned towards the source of a loud voice and watched as George Martin walked down the stairs from the control room. Noting the shaken looks on their faces, he stopped before them and asked, “Was the trip here alright for you two?”

 

John crossed his arms with a scowl as he brushed past the older man, heading to join him in the control room. “Oh, it was fine… Until the elevator acted mental,” John explained bitterly as he passed by.

 

“Pulled my arm up to the ceiling,” Ringo added in disbelief as he absentmindedly stroked over the red ruby ring once more with two fingers, not meeting their producer’s eyes so he could stare down at the troublesome piece of jewelry. Mr. Martin furrowed his brow at Ringo’s statement, looking somewhat confused by the description, and perhaps doubtful if this wasn’t another one of John’s silly pranks.

 

“Really? That’s strange. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like that happening…”

 

When John and Ringo left that day, they took the stairs.

 

The morning of their recording session finally arrived. All of them were woken up to the ringing of the telephone; Brian Epstein himself on the other end, calling from his parents’ home to check in. During the brief conversation among them, Ringo never really got a chance to pass on his odd anxiety about the ring to Paul, who was on the phone and speaking for all of them. It was probably for the best, anyway; the drummer was positive he was just being paranoid.

 

Their breakfast was rapidly scarfed down and soon enough, they were all piling into the car so Mal could drive them to the studio. John convinced Paul and George to take the stairs as he gives a quick summary of what had occurred just yesterday. “The elevators acting up,” John told them as he walked past the metal doors and towards the stairs, “Did a real odd thing and nearly tore Ringo's arm off.” Ringo rolled his eyes at the exaggeration, but still nodded to confirm that it wasn’t a joke as he followed John towards the stairs. Paul and George exchanged looks and shrugs, following the pair.

 

They greeted George Martin and his assistant for that day as they set up their various instruments, all getting into place, and as soon as Mr. Martin gave them a thumbs up from behind the studio glass, they began to play.

 

They recorded their first song without a problem, as well as the second and the third (save for the retakes they had to do when John’s voice broke a few times and George’s guitar somehow went out of tune; at one point, Paul sang the wrong lyric and they all burst out into laughter.) Ringo waited for his entrance in their fourth song, _You’re Gonna Lose That Girl,_ and began to play once he heard his cue. He bounced along with the other’s singing and his own drumming as he made sure to keep up the steady tempo, grinning just a bit as he played. The weight of the large ruby made it harder to move the drumstick around, but he knew he’d make do.

 

_“I’ll make a point, of taking her away from you—”_

They played for another solid two minutes as they all lost themselves in the music. The lights had been left low to set the mood, and Paul and George shared a microphone intimately, looking into each other’s faces in the darkness as they provided the supporting vocals, while John belted out the chorus and Ringo jammed along, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips that filled the dark room with a smoky atmosphere.

 

The song ended and the final notes of the guitars hung in the air as the lights went on again. They all turned towards the control room for feedback on the performance, only to see George Martin and his assistant huddled together, whispering to each other. Finally, their producer leaned forward to the microphone that connected the two rooms, and his voice could be heard crackling on the speaker.

 

“Boys, is anyone buzzing?” Martin inquired, making John and Paul share a bewildered look.

 

“What? No...” Paul replied with a small tilt of his head, glancing back up at the control booth. What could possibly be buzzing? “Is it the equipment?”

 

“We picked up some strange buzzing noise, here—” The older man looked around the mixing console before him and pressed a button. Their music started playing throughout the room from the speakers located not too far from them. George leaned a bit closer as their recording played on, straining his ears to hear the odd sound that their producer was talking about.

 

“What _is_ that?” He muttered, finally picking up on the buzzing in the background of their song. “It doesn’t sound like feedback, does it? It’s kind of— it’s a bit mechanical, but…”

 

While the other three debated on the source of the noise, Ringo remained in his seat and clapped along to the beat of his own drumming over the recording. He honestly wasn’t all that concerned about the mysterious buzzing, he figured it was just some issue with the machine rather than their playing.

 

“Was it you?” John turned to Paul, who shook his head in response, giving an _I dunno!_ expression with a shrug.

 

“Well, don’t look at me,” George added to the conversation, and the three of them turned to face Richard who, in turn, shook his head in confusion.

 

“Well, we’ll just have to do another take,” came their producer’s response, and they all shared a groan, because aside from the odd buzzing their performance was top notch, and now they had to do even better.

 

In that moment, the floor began creaking beneath the drummer and his instruments.

 

To the shock of both himself and the others, Ringo (and his drum set) crashed right through a circular hole in the floor before his bandmates could even react. The drummer hollered in surprise, dust flying up as the floorboards around him snapped. He winced as his arm caught on one jagged piece of wood on the way down.

 

John instinctively tried to dive in after their drummer, but was stopped by Paul, who managed to tightly grab onto the back of his suit coat before he could get very far, both of their eyes widening in alarm.

 

“Ringo!” George shouted in horror, letting out a gasp as he dropped to his knees and peered in through the hole in the floor at his fallen friend. From the control room, George Martin and his assistant watch on in disbelief.

 

Ringo hit the floor with a grunt and the air was knocked out of him, despising the horrible feeling of trying to catch his breath as his body ached under him. For a moment he had no idea what was happening, registering only that he was struggling to breathe and coughed at the sawdusty air that was in the room he fell into, tailbone burning from where he landed on it. It was then that he noticed the shadowy figures surrounding him.

 

Ringo was only knocked out of his trance when he felt himself being grabbed at; now, he had been grabbed at before, he’d dealt with his fair share of crazy fans, but this felt different. This was not someone grabbing at him out of adoration, or concern. This grabbing _hurt._ A lot. Thick hands squeezed at his biceps and wrists.

 

His eyes immediately flew open (he didn’t even realize that he had closed them) as his arms were forcibly pinned to the ground by men he’d never seen before, panicking as he started to desperately kick at his attackers. In response, another one was grabbing at his legs and— _wow,_ were they strong.

 

“Leggo‘a me!” Ringo thrashed around until he heard a sound that filled him with a sense of terror, horrifying him to his very core. Unfortunately, he could now identify what the unknown buzzing sound from earlier was.

 

It was the buzz of a chainsaw, small and silver, being held in the hands of an older gentleman approaching the group of men with eyes full of purpose and, perhaps, a bit of glee at the thought of cutting into the helpless drummer being held down at his mercy. At least, that’s how it appeared to Ringo!

 

The Beatle opened his mouth to shout— for help, to protest, to bargain, he wasn’t sure— but a third man was now silencing him with a hand over his lips, resulting in his pleas being muffled. Now he was _really panicking_.

 

Meanwhile, the others above shout for him.

 

“Hey! Who do you people think you are!” John screamed down at the mysterious men, his voice filled with so much rage that it scared even Ringo, though the men hurting him seemed entirely unaffected. George threw off his guitar and bolted towards the door of their studio as fast as he could, heading downstairs at a breakneck speed to reach Ringo before they could hurt him. Paul yelled from behind John’s shoulder to the two still frozen in the control room, his grip on his friend’s suit jacket tightening as John leaned further down towards the hole, trying to keep him from jumping in and having potentially _two_ injured Beatles to worry about.

 

A floor down, Ringo attempted to escape the hands that were still holding him down, but all his struggles were in vain for he still couldn’t seem to free himself. His arm was suddenly jerked upward forward and it took him only a second to realize that it was the one with the ring. The man with the chainsaw was taking menacing steps forward, getting far too close for Richard’s liking with that chainsaw of his. It didn’t take very long for the man to connect the dots and figure out what exactly they planned on cutting off, and it was confirmed when he heard a voice say clearly, _“Now, let’s get that ring off...”_

 

Just as Ringo was about to accept his painful fate and start brainstorming other career paths than a one-handed drummer, one of his cymbals from the now broken drum set came flying in, hitting the chainsaw guy right in the back of the head. The impact made him fall to his knees, the chainsaw slicing through the pants of the man holding Ringo’s legs, narrowly missing skin, which made him panic and release his grip on the drummer. The other two men turned to aid their fallen comrade and before he knew it, someone was hauling Ringo up and dragging him out the nearest door.

 

Together, the two of them made a break for it, running down the hall and away from the room of death, until the person who saved him in the first place grabbed at his arm to stop him. The Beatle reluctantly stopped, legs shaking and breath panting as he took a moment to catch his breath again. Their abrupt halt finally gave him a chance to get a good look at his savior, a young woman in a long white coat who was staring worriedly at him.

 

“What the _f…_ ” He trailed off, biting back the curse in front of the maiden. “Who are you?” Ringo finally questioned as he gasped, struggling to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal.

 

The stranger only shook her head at him, her eyes wide and frantic. “A friend, but this is no time to talk, you must _run._ I will give you time to escape.”

 

“But, would you just explain—” Ringo began to protest as he was pushed forward yet again.

 

“ _Go!_ ” She hissed insistently, and then his mysterious benefactor ran off down the opposite hallway before he could say anything else. Ringo almost started to run after her, but the sound of angry yelling coming from where they had just escaped from made him change his mind and sprint off down a random hallway.

 

The halls were strangely like a maze, he had never been on the second floor before and he felt incredibly lost. Ringo wanted to stop and take a moment to figure out his surroundings, collect himself from the sudden turn of events that had happened so quickly, but the drummer knew he couldn’t. The distant shouts of his attackers kept pushing him on, too frightened to rest lest he be caught again.

 

He looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed, but he was suddenly stopped when he ran right into something— no, _someone._ The feeling of yet another pair of hands tightly gripping his arms threw the drummer into a panic, instinctively beginning to struggle as his bright blue eyes widened in fear, not processing who was holding him in the first place.

 

“No, no! Please, let me go! I don’t—” Before he could even finish his frankly sorry begging, a familiar voice reached his ears and he immediately stopped his struggles at the sound of it.

 

“Ritchie! Calm down, it’s just me. I won’t let them get you again.” Ringo looked up and saw the concerned face of their guitarist staring down at him, letting out a sigh of relief when he realized that it was just George and not his attackers.

 

“I thought...I thought you were one of _them…_ ” Ringo whispered breathlessly as George let go of him, unable to keep his usually steady hands from shaking as he raked them anxiously through his hair. He really wanted a cigarette now.

 

“Did they hurt you?” his bandmate questioned quickly, now checking the poor drummer over for any sort of visible injury. Ringo shook his head, but at that moment, he felt the adrenaline finally wearing off which in turn made him realize just how sore he actually was. He wasn’t hurt _too_ bad, but he knew that he was going to be bruised in quite a few different places by tomorrow. There was also a spot of blood on his suit jacket where his arm had caught on one of the snapped beams and caused a scrape. Other than that, and being incredibly shaken up by the whole experience, he was fine.

 

“I’m alright, Georgie. They didn’t hurt me. Some bird saved me before they could do anything to me.” Ringo explained, earning a sagely nod from George.

 

“Okay… Alright, that’s good. Let's get you back up to the others, I think John was about to jump down after you when I left. They’ve probably already called security by now.”

 

When they got back up to the third floor, Ringo and George walked in on Paul frantically trying to soothe a rather infuriated John.

 

“They think they can just try to cut off my mate’s hand and get away with it?! I’ll kill ‘em myself if I have to!” the singer shouted angrily, pacing around the studio to burn off his extra anger.

 

Paul reached towards him to place a hand on his shoulder. “John, calm down…” he said quietly, frowning when John jerked his shoulder away so he couldn’t touch him. Thankfully, the bassist spotted George and Ringo returning and gestured towards them so John could see.

 

“Look! Ringo’s _fine!_ ” Paul hesitated, tilting his head slightly at Ringo because he could see no visible injuries, “...Right?”

 

Ringo nodded but remained silent because hey, at least he was alright physically! Emotionally, however… Now that was questionable. How was one supposed to react to nearly getting your hand sliced and diced by a bunch of strangers, none of whom Richard had ever met before? At least if he had a few enemies out there, he’d want to know of their existence ahead of time.

 

When John noticed that the drummer was, in fact, unharmed, he visibly relaxed a bit. Everyone in the room could tell how angry he still was, though. “Good… But if those twats come back, none of you are stopping me from—”

 

“You’re back! Thank goodness, I think Brian would have my neck if I let anything happen to any of you while he was gone...” Mr. Martin rushed in before John could finish his bitter statement, his gaze falling on each of the Beatles at least once as he looked around the room at them. “Security’s been called, they’re looking for the attackers now. I can’t believe— I mean really, who let that lot in here! With a chainsaw, no less! I am going to need to seriously reconsider who I hire as a doorman...”

 

The Beatles exchanged glances that said they were all thinking the same thing, and that perhaps in the future there should be some sort of background check before being hired to work so close to the famous band. They stood around awkwardly, not sure what to do, as their drummer was certainly in no mood to continue recording now and there was a group of insane men on the loose, trying to chop people’s hands off. The producer seemed to notice their lost expressions.

 

“Well, don’t just stand there! What are all of you still doing here? It’s too dangerous to be here right now!” Mr. Martin pushed the group towards the exit, “Those men could come back at any moment. And I’m fairly certain that no one in this room wants Richard’s hand getting cut off.”

 

The four boys nodded because they knew that he was absolutely right, so they made sure to get out of there as fast as they could (while still taking the stairs, obviously,) escorted by two assistants.

 

As Mal drove them back home, three of them were thinking about how they’d probably need to get some help from someone who knew a bit more about rings than their ring-loving friend. But Ringo? He found himself thinking— _hoping_ — things couldn’t possibly get much worse than what had already happened…

 

He had no clue how wrong he was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo just needs some sleep. The others plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual thanks too ineedyoubygeorgeharrison, nowandthenoldfriend and just-a-jealous-guy for helping me come up with ideas!

When the Beatles step out of the car the moon is just starting to rise into the sky.

Mal waves goodbye to the group as he drives off. 

John is quick to unlock their front door and they enter swiftly into their home.

George makes sure the lock is on sturdy as soon as the door closes. Paul walks on to turn on a lamp to illuminate the giant, dark room.

No one says a thing; George goes up to one of the windows overlooking the street and peers through the curtains uneasily, John throws himself onto the couch and Paul soon follows.

It’s quiet.

“I'm going to bed,” Ringo announces softly.

“What?” John whips his head towards their drummer “You’re just going off to bed? Don't you want to, I dunno, _call the police_?”

Ringo shakes his head as he walks towards his area of their home “I fell down an entire floor, almost had my hand cut off and ended up being chased by a bunch of strangers,” He takes his tie off “What I _want_ is sleep.”

It's apparent how tired their drummer is, his blue eyes droop more than usual and as he undressed his movement is slow and sluggish.

Ringo plans to start his nightly routine as he heads towards his closet and opens the door to find something comfortable to sleep in. 

He sighs heavily. Of all the days to forget to do the laundry...

Ringo turns back around to the others; choosing to ignore the way they dispersed from an obvious huddle.

“Could anyone lend me some pajamas?” Ringo asks.

“I should have an extra pair.” George uses his thumb to gesture to his own area. Ringo drags his feet as he walks the short trip.

The sleepy drummer grabs a light blue cotton shirt and blue polka-dotted shorts out of a drawer. Had Ringo not been so tired he would have teased George about the shorts, instead he headed straight towards their bathroom to change.

Ringo passes out as soon as his head falls on his pillow.

 

He wakes up to the sounds of movement in the eating area.

Ringo sits up with a groan as his backaches at the simple action. 

He looks down at his arms, the short sleeves allowing him to see the bruises that blossomed overnight.

They weren't terrible, just spots across his forearms where fingers had dug harshly into his skin. Bruising just slightly darker on the arm with the ruby ring. Ringo pushes the blankets off of him as he swings his feet around to touch the cold floor.

“...I can’t believe the cops didn't believe us, I called Mal to come over and check up on him though...” He hears John mutter to someone. Ringo cranes his head up to look at the clock on the wall. 7:26, _very_ early by their standards on a day where they had nothing planned.

“Where are we going to go? The library? A jeweler?” Paul is quick to add. 

“What are you talking about?” Ringo asks as he stands and heads to the others.

When Ringo turns to face them he expects to see them in various states of disarray; Usually at an hour like this Paul would be the only one completely awake and having breakfast, John would still be groaning about leaving bed while he and George would be just waking up. 

This morning they all looked ready to go out the door and start their day. Compared to Ringo who stood before them, a severe case of bedhead in an oversized shirt that reached to his thighs and in a pair of polka-dotted shorts. 

They stared at each other.

 John and Paul stood frozen near the counter, looking like they had just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

George himself stood frozen with his hand in the cookie jar. Ringo tilted his head to the side.

“Where are you guys going?”

“...Nowhere...” Paul answered slowly, hands fiddling with his tie as he struggled to lie to their drummer.

Now, Ringo may have had the least amount of schooling of the four, but it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots.

“You guys were going to leave me here?” Ringo saw no reason to beat around the bush. “What? Of course not!” Paul answered on behalf of the guilty party, but his face already told Ringo everything he needed to know.

"That's a laugh," Ringo replied sarcastically, "You'd make a terrible actor but a great comedian.

"Listen to yourself," George began, only to trail off once the attention had been turned to him holding a chocolate chip cookie in between his teeth. Ringo huffed as he crossed his arms; mind you, he only winced slightly. “I’m the one with the ring stuck on my bloody finger!”

Paul rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated at the piss-poor performance they were putting on for Ringo. The control freak in him was showing, the gears in his head turning in an attempt to think of some way to get things back on track

"Alright, Richie," John sighed, "We didn't include you in the Musketeers. What of it? We're trying to keep your ring finger on and we can't exactly do that with those freaks on the hunt for you, can we?"

Paul just about gagged at the sudden admittance but knew the cat was already out of the bag. Before the argument could proceed there was knocking at the door. All four heads turned simultaneously. George chewed on the last of his chocolate chip as he headed towards the window, pulling the curtains back ever so slightly. “It’s just Mal,” he assured as he went to open the door to allow six feet and six inches into their home. The gentle giant that was Mal gave a smile as a greeting.

“I know I said I could only come and check on Ringo every so often, but I've cleared my schedule enough where I can stay here as you wanted me to.”

Alright, maybe Ringo did miss a few dots. 

“You wanted Mal to come and watch over me?” Ringo remarked in disbelief. “Well, we don’t know if they know where we live! We invited Mal here just in case!”  Paul gestured towards their friend, who was now starting to feel awkward as he realized he unknowingly entered an argument.

 “I can take care of myself, you don’t need to treat me like a _child._ ” The drummer was certainly starting to feel like one, still in his pajamas and as he argued with the others who wanted to have Mal essentially babysit him.

 

“It probably isn't my place to ask…" Mal hesitantly began "but what are you all arguing about?” he asked, successfully putting a cap on their argument for the moment. 

“There are people after the ring stuck on Ritchie’s hand,” John explained as Ringo uncrossed his hands to show Mal. Ringo caught Mal glancing at the bruising on his arms before he focused in on the ring. 

“We were planning on going out-” Paul began, pausing briefly as Ringo shot him a look of mild hurt and anger “...and trying to see if we can find anything about the ring.”

George took another cookie out of the jar before closing it and turned towards the others ”Which will be impossible, we don’t know where to start or even where the ring came from-”

“Oh, I recognize this!” Mal exclaimed as he took a step closer to the drummer. George stopped mid-bite as Paul moved to completely face their roadie “What? You do?”

“Yeah, saw something like it in a poker game,” He straightened his glasses and looked up to the others, “An Indian fella said it was a bridal ring for his wife,” Ringo looked down and scrunched his nose at the revelation. “Let's just say the reason she didn’t want it anymore was the reason he was there.” With that Mal chuckled at his own joke.

“Would there really be so many people after Ritchie for just an engagement ring though?” John furrowed his brows. 

“Well, who wouldn't want to marry Ritchie? Just look at him.” George gestured to Ringo with his cookie. Ringo rolled his eyes but gave a small smile.

“An Indian chap? So the rings probably from India then” Paul chirps up.

“But we still don’t know where to go to find out about that ring,” John is quick to add “Where would we go?”.

“Wait, there’s an Indian restaurant across town, my Ma keeps saying how authentic the entire place is since it's run by a family who moved here a few years back,” George answers as he straightens himself up at his realization, “I know it sounds strange but it’s really our only option.”

“Then we should go! Maybe they’d know something,” Ringo says before looking at the ring and giving it a light tug in a lame attempt to remove it.

“Well it's settled then,” Paul stands up and turns to Mal “Would you mind taking us there Mal?”

“Course not! I’ve got nothing to do today and I’m interested to see how this’ll play out.” Mal smiles as he gestures to the door.

Everyone seems to be ready to head out as Ringo gave an incredulous scoff at the others.

 

“At least let me get dressed!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the Indian restaurant!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asgdj finally the next chapter

It takes Ringo the same amount of time to change into his suit as it does George to call his mother to ask for directions to the Indian restaurant.

 

Which was  _ forever. _

 

Of course, Ringo had completely forgotten about the lack of clean clothes in his closet.

So while the drummer leaned across the washing machine he watched George talk to his mother over the phone in great interest.

“No, Brian left to go help out his parents with their business” George answered into the phone, slouched over on the couch.

“No, we haven’t told him, we’re all grown men mum.” George deflated as he listened to his mother.

“We can take care of ourselves…”

 

While this occurred Mal and Paul engaged in small talk at the eating area as John sat by the piano; once in a while he would loudly smash random keys and give George a cheeky grin in exchange for every glare.

It’s almost nine in the morning when Ringo finishes fixing his tie and George hangs up the phone, announcing he had attained the address.

The drive was uneventful, having made it across town as fast as Mal could without breaking any traffic laws. The four are quick to exit the car as Mal drives off to find a place to park.

 

The building itself stood out from the street, bricks painted an orange-red. Large letters spelling out ‘Rajahama’ was colored a rusty reddish-brown. Tall windows showed teal and maroon curtains.

A man dressed in all white stood across the street of the building, going completely unnoticed by the four. As soon as the last Beatle walked in the mysterious man headed towards the nearest phone box.

 

When the four entered the restaurant they noticed there were only two sets of couples seated about.

One couple in the far back began to whisper to each other as soon as they had seen the band enter. 

The ones closest to them hadn’t even acknowledged their existence, too busy giving each other goo-goo eyes.

 

When the door closes behind John a small bell rings signaling their arrival. An older small round Indian man stepped out from a side door. This man was most likely a waiter as he was dressed neatly and held what they could only assume were menus.

“Hello! Welcome to Rajahama would you like...to...try…” The waiter trailed off as he took in the new arrivals.

“Oh, hello,” Paul was the first to speak with gave a small wave of his hand. He pulled in Ringo from the side, grabbing at the arm with the ring to show the man.

“This may sound strange but we were hoping someone here could identify this-” Paul stopped talking as the waiter quickly walked away.

“The service here is wonderful,” George stated dryly to John who looked on incredulously.

Before they could decide on their next course of action the sound of muffled footsteps quickly approaching them was heard.

Paul immediately pushed Ringo’s hand down and in turn, Ringo took a step back behind him.

“Ah! Welcome!” An accented voice shouted at them. A middle-aged Indian woman walked out from where the waiter had disappeared to.

She wore a long blue dress embroidered with intricate gold designs, wrapped around her was a long garment colored a darker blue.

“It’s amazing to see The Beatles of all people, here to eat in my small restaurant!”

The Beatles looked around briefly, taking in the length of the room, the intricately decorated room, and walls painted in gold patterns as well as the height of the pillars stretching up into the very high ceiling.

 This was no small restaurant.

“We aren’t really here to eat-”

“Nonsense!” The owner interrupts John as she beckons them in with the hand holding the long cloth.

“This meal will be on me! My daughter absolutely adores you four!”

“But-” Paul begins but the owner proceeded to the tables.

“Well, we haven't eaten yet,” George mutters as he leads the others inward.

“We ate an  _ hour _ ago,” Ringo replies as he follows close behind.

They’re led to a neatly set table near an open area; a group of men on stage in what they could only assume was traditional clothes playing instruments on stage a few yards in front.

The owner actually began to pull all four chairs out from the table, now it would definitely be rude to not sit down. 

They reluctantly sat down (except for George) and thanked the waiter who had returned with the menus.

“Excuse me,” Ringo said just before the owner could leave, she turned to him with a wide smile. 

Ringo stuck out his jeweled hand at her “About my ring-”   
“Yes! Very lovely, I must go back to the kitchen to ensure your meals are prepared perfectly.” The owner tossed her dark blue garment over her shoulder and quickly left with the waiter before the four could speak up.

 

“We barely got a word in.” John shook his head as he looked down at the menu.

“Should we go ask around? Better than waiting around here for them to come back,” Paul asks as he puts his menu down.

“I could go find that bird again,” John nods as he places his own menu on top of Paul’s “See if she recognizes it.”

“I’ll have a talk with the band,” Paul adds as he pushes his chair back to stand.

“I can stay here to see if another waiter comes by,” George says without looking up from the menu.

“What am I supposed to do?” Ringo pipes up as he crosses his arms. The others share a look.

“I think it would be better if you stayed here,” Paul responds with a small smile.

“What? The ring you all are going to ask about is on  _ my _ hand!”

 

This was starting to feel like a repeat of that very morning.

 

“It’d be safer if you stayed in one spot is all,” John tries to explain as Ringo scoffs.

“Oh, but what if a cultist jumps out of my curry?” Ringo bitterly jokes.

“Ritchie, we just want to make sure you don’t get hurt from all this,” Paul tells him and Ringo is almost surprised at the caring tone he can hear in his voice.

 

Ringo sighs loudly through his nose and sits back against his chair. The drummer wants to protest but a part of him knows he’d get nowhere. “Fine, I’ll stay,” Ringo says, defeated, as he looks down at the menu in his hand.

 

Paul gives him a pat on the shoulder and heads toward the band.

John pushes his chair in as he makes his way to the kitchen and George remains in his seat, deciding to wait for the waiter.

Ringo rests his head in his hand as he begins to fiddle with the silverware.

 

John pushes the swinging doors as he enters the kitchen. He’s immediately met with a concoction of smells.

He’s quick to scan the kitchen, spotting about three cooks, well, cooking, and sees the owner talking to the waiter from earlier.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” John quickly heads to her just as the waiter walks off.

“Oh, did you need something George?” The owner asks and John is taken aback for a moment.

“It’s John actually, I was wondering if you saw the ring on my pal’s hand.”

The owner furrows her brows as she thinks back, “The ring on the shortest of you four, was it? Yes I saw it.”

“Well, would you happen to know what it means?” John asks hopefully.

“Oh yes, quite the lovely engagement ring, it reminds me of the one my husband gave to me,” The owner smiled fondly. “Unfortunately we split due to his gambling problems.” She sighed.

 

“So it’s just an engagement ring?” John asks as he follows the owner who went to check on a pot of soup.

“Well, I don’t know what else it could be.” 

Before John could press any further the ringing of the phone interrupted him. The owner went over to the wall where it was attached and answered with “Rahajama! Get a taste of India to go!”

The owner's eyes widened and began to adopt an even cheerier tone to her voice. “Yes! He is! Why he’s right here actually!” The owner spun around towards John just as he was about to leave “This is for you.”

Confused, John reluctantly took the phone from the owner's grasp and put his ear to the receiver.

“....Hello?”

“What the bloody hell have you boy’s gotten into?” Brian Epstein yelled at him.

“Eppy? How’d you know we were here?”

“George’s mother called me,” Eppy simply replied and John listened to him sigh. “Now, care to tell me why this ring is causing such a problem?”

For a minute John considered on whether or not telling Brian about the crazed men after their drummer, yesterday's incident of Ringo falling through the floor and just managing to escape from having his hand cut off.

“John?” Brian called out after John’s moment of silence.

“Ringo got a ring in the fanmail and we’re pretty sure some group of dodgy men are after it,” John summed up finally.

“What? You have to be kidding...” Brian groaned, but John could pick up the worried tone.

“Ringo wishes,” John replied with a scoff.

John heard Brian sigh again.

“We’re currently asking around to see if anyone here knows something about the ring, so I've gotta go,” John talked into the phone and Brian immediately began to protest.

“Go? You need to tell me what’s going on!-”

“Bye Eppy!” John yelled into the phone.

“ _ John!”  _ Brian shouted back.

John hung up the phone.

Miles away at Brian’s parent's estate his mother watched him glare at the phone into his hand.

“What’s wrong?” She asked as she placed a tea set onto a table.

“My boys….” Brian started as he looked up at her “...Can be difficult...”

  
  


Meanwhile, near the stage, Paul wasn't getting any information either.

“So the design doesn't ring any bells?” He sighed disappointedly.

The man on the sitar shook his head “Unfortunately, no.”

Paul sighed as the band began to play another song, he turned around to head back to the table but suddenly bumped into someone.

A young lady in a rose-gold color dress took hold of him, she had hair that was up in a neat braid held together by a glittery gold band. She wore a gold necklace and matching gold earrings that looked strangely familiar. They began to sway in time with the flute.

“Uh, hello.” Paul blinked in surprise. Was this a fangirl? If so why did she look so serious?

She looked up at him, expression unchanging “My name is Ahme and your friend is in danger.”

Paul blinked again.  _ “What?” _

 

About 30 feet away the appearance of Paul’s dance partner went unnoticed by George and Ringo. George’s head was still on the menu while Ringo busied himself with folding his napkin for the third time.

 

From the corner of his eye, George caught the waiter from earlier passing by as he headed towards the lovey-dovey couple.

“I’m going to go have a talk with him,” George said as he folded his menu. Ringo simply looked up and gave a small nod before busying himself with the napkin once more.

Just as George stood to head towards the waiter John pushed past the swinging doors. He looked around the restaurant, spotting Ringo still slouched over at the table, he saw George speaking to a confused looking waiter. John turned his head to the left to see if Paul was still talking to the band, only to see him dancing with some bird.

Really Paul? At a time like this?

 

John marched up to the pair clearing his throat to get their attention. Before he could chastise Paul for trying to get a girl at a time like this Paul snapped his head towards him, eyes wide.

“Ringo is in trouble.”

The bird let go of Paul and turned to him.

“That ring he wears,” she began, all three turned to the bored drummer briefly before huddling a bit more together.

“Is the dreaded  _ sacrificial _ ring of Kaili,” Ahme said, voice low as she spoke to them.

“ _ Sacrificial?” _ John loudly hissed out and Ahme hushed him.

“He has until tomorrow's sunrise before he is the prime target for sacrifice,” Ahme continued as she briefly looked around her. “I can say no more.”

John and Paul shared a disturbed look as John gave a breathless “What?” and Paul replied with a simple shake of his head and wide eyes.

Ahme then ducked in a little closer to them, the almost cheery music the band played contradicting the feelings of worry and fear bubbling up.

 “A victim is offered to Kaili on every full moon, all are happy to go! He who wins is privileged to wear the sacred ring from the sun to moon, from moon to sun,” she moves her hands to simulate the rising and setting of celestial objects as all John and Paul could do was stare.

“At the end of those happy days, he is slaughtered, jolly, with a knife.”

With this, the pair of Beatles immediately launched into a series of questions.

While John and Paul were caught up in the future well being of their drummer, they failed to notice that Ringo was currently being approached by an unwanted, familiar face.

 

Ringo tilted his wrist back as he watched the jewels glitter under the lights as he currently felt very useless.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar color scheme of the waiter approach him.

“Lovely ring you have there,” the figure said as they stopped next to the table.

Despite his growing distaste for the ring the longer it remained on his hand, he looked up to thank the man for the compliment as his mother didn’t raise a heathen.

Only to have the words die on his lips as he saw the smug look of his attacker from yesterday.

Before the drummer could react a pair of solid hands grabbed him from behind and forced him back in his seat. Whipping his head towards the newest arrival he immediately recognized him as one of the men that had held him down just hours before.

“Mind if I have a look?” The man in front of him said as he pulled out a long, terrifying knife from seemingly out of nowhere.

George sighed but nodded his head as the waiter affirmed that he knew nothing about the ring or jewelry in general.

George turned back around to head back to their table, hoping John or Paul had better luck getting at least the smallest bit of information.

He didn't expect to see two of the men from the incident from ours before and the look of fear on Ringo’s face as he was held down at his seat by one of the men.

What really sent George springing into action was when the older of the two lifted what was basically a sword above his head. 

“Ringo!” George cried as he broke into a run towards the captive Beatle, harnessing the speed he usually used running from mobs of teens to reach the drummer in time.

His cry had caught the attention of the other Beatles to finally look up from their huddle.  

John broke out into his own run and due to his close proximity was able to reach Ringo first.

_ “Let go of him ya daft git!” _ John growled out. 

John aggressively pulled and shoved the man by his shirt collar to the floor. Unfortunately for Ringo, his strong grip remained and he was also jerked to the side, narrowly missing the sword from cutting through his hand as he was pulled out of his chair.

The man finally let go of him as he crashed into the table behind them. The sound of plates shattering happened simultaneously as the sword cut through the table. 

For a moment Ringo laid dazed on the ground as he watched the table fall apart, coming to the realization that it could have been his hand with wide eyes. Due to his state of shock, he doesn’t notice George unceremoniously shoving the man with the sword into another table to get him away from the group.

The drummer is quickly grabbed again much to his dismay. Before he can think of struggling he’s pulled to his feet and realizes that George and Paul are the ones hauling him by the arms.

“John! We have to go!” Paul yells as he and George practically carry Ringo towards the door, interrupting John’s thoughts on actively going after the man with a weapon. He joins in by shoving the other three towards the exit as fast as they can.

The owner, who had exited the kitchen as soon as she had heard George scream, watched in horror as they broke tables and plates.

“Get out of here you _paagal aadamee!_ “  
Her yell followed them out the door.

 

Their shoes loudly hit across the sidewalk, people walking by parted for them hastily (some doing double takes) as the four ran as fast as they could away from the restaurant.

“Where’s Mal?” Paul panted as they finally slowed down once they turned a corner.

“Haven’t a clue,” George answered as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

Ringo subconsciously began to fiddle with the ring as he and the others looked around for their roadie.

“Where the hell could he have gone?” John cursed as he took a step forward onto the street, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he searched for a familiar car.

While the others discussed their next course of action (Which was really John wanting to abandon the idea of searching for their roadie and paying for a cab while Paul and George tried to convince him otherwise)

Ringo scanned around the street in the hopes of finding Mal when a sign caught his eye.

“There!” Ringo interrupted them as he broke into a brisk walk,

The other three were quick to follow. 

“What? Did you find Mal?” Paul asked as he looked towards where Ringo was marching off to.

“No, it’s a jeweler!” Ringo pointed towards a building, its display windows showing off an array of jeweled necklaces and rings.

“You’re about to get sacrificed and you want to go to a jeweler?” John asked, baffled as he took in the store.

That made Ringo freeze in his tracks.

“ _ I’m going to be what?” _

George almost crashes into Ringo from his sudden stop. Paul gives John a look. John continues to look at their drummer, unremorseful for the sudden revelation he gave.

“That blasted ring is used for sacrifice, if you don’t get it off of that hand by tomorrow morning they're gonna start wanting to actually kill you!”

For a moment Ringo thinks of planting himself on the ground because at this point he has the right to panic and maybe,  _ maybe _ cry.

He doesn’t. 

The drummer breathes in and loudly exhales through his nose. He looks up at the worried face of George and Paul (John’s too, ever so slowly changing) and he picks up the same speed he had been walking moments before.

“Well...Just another reason to get it off then, y’know.”

 

When they enter they notice that the shop is thankfully empty. The owner, a balding, nicely dressed man, turns around as soon as Ringo steps in. He gives them a welcoming smile (once more the four are thankful that he doesn’t seem to recognize them)

“Hello, there gentlemen! Looking for anything nice for a young lady? Like a ring?”

“Nah,  _ she’s  _ already got one,” John quips as he gave a nod to Ringo.

Ringo leaned across the glass display and stuck his hand out.

“You see, I have this ring...”

The jeweler leaned over to look at the ring as he pulled a loupe from his pocket.

Behind the two John and Paul watched on. Paul looked to his left, expecting to see the youngest Beatle also paying attention. When he noticed his absence he was quick to turn around, just in time for him to see George reaching into an open safe which housed extravagant jeweled crowns and necklaces.

_ “George!”  _ Paul hissed, sounding ever so slightly like a mother warning a child to behave. George was quick to retract his hand, having the decency to look guilty, at least.

“Quite a beautiful opal...” The jeweler muttered as he examined the ring. He then directed his view to ruby.

 but after a second of inspection he looked up, confusion visible on his face before he went to take an even closer look.

  
“That’s strange…” The jeweler said as he went to look at the ruby at a different angle.

“What is?” Ringo asked as he leaned in to have a look as well.

“This...isn’t a ruby,” The jeweler said, not looking up.

“Oh, so its a fake?” George asked, sounding almost disappointed as he tried to look around Ringo to get a view of the ring himself.

"A man-made gemstone will form perfectly causing constant refraction of light in all angles, natural formation of gems causes fractal lights that are unpredictable...” The jeweler began as he looked, catching the confused looks of the four.

“The gem has little different sized mirrors inside that make it shiny.” The jeweler sighed. Paul made a noise of understanding while the others nodded.

“This gem has the markings of it being naturally made, but it's opaque and rubies tend to be transparent,” The jeweler continued as he opened a drawer and took out a small box. 

“Huh,” George said with renowned interest.

The jeweler opened the box, revealing a set of four metal rods, he took one out and once again leaned in closer to the ring. If Ringo looked close enough, he could make out a small nine engraved into it.

“This will tell me how strong it is,” the jeweler explained as he pressed the sharp end into the gem.

None of them expected it to snap.

“Oh, wow…” The jeweler said, wide-eyed.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that it’s strong,” John muttered to Paul as the broken bit of metal rolled off.

“This is quite the strangest gem I've ever seen,” The jeweler said in awe.

"That's all very nice and interesting and all but I just want it off my bloody finger," Ringo finally spoke up.

“Oh well, follow me then,” The jeweler said as he headed towards the back of the shop.

He leads them to a smaller office and to a table. The four gathered around as he picked a bag off the ground.

“I usually encounter problems like this, getting rid of a ring,” The jeweler smiled as he took out some tools “Most of them matrimonial reasons.”

John faked a laugh as Ringo went to stand next to the man.

The jeweler picked up what looked like a hand-held saw and he didn’t miss the sudden tense look of the others.

“Don’t worry, I won't be going completely through, just enough for your friend to snap it off himself,” he reassured the four worried Beatles.

Hesitantly Ringo placed his hand down at the table.

No one said a thing as the jeweler sawed at the gold band.

For a while nothing happened, John leaned onto the table as he grew impatient, Paul never took his eyes off the tool and George stood and looked over Ringo’s shoulder. The drummer simply readied himself to retract his hand at any sign of danger.

The jeweler, upon realizing not even a scratch was forming, applied more pressure.

The saw snapped. Ringo flinched.

“This is not a metal within my sphere of experience,” The jeweler said in disbelief as he tossed the now broken saw to the side.

“Please sir, I really need this ring off,” Ringo pleaded as the Jeweler took a step back.

“Then we’ll have to use the wheel then,” he replied as he walked off to grab something.

“The wheel?” John echoed as they watched him come back with what was essentially an electric saw.

“Yes, the wheel.” The jeweler nodded.

“Wait a minute, Ritchie do you  _ want _ to use this thing?” George looked down at their drummer. For a moment Ringo said nothing, but he eventually nodded, even if he was unsure of his own answer.

Taking it as permission, the jeweler brought the saw to life.

He gently pressed the wheel upon the ring as the other three watched like hawks over their drummer.

They didn’t know whether or not to be surprised anymore when the wheel cracked and shattered.

Ringo quickly retracted his hand as the thing shut off.

“I’ve truly never seen anything like it,” The jeweler sputtered.

“Now what? How am I ever get this off?” Ringo questioned, panic seeping into his voice as he looked at the unmarked ring.

“... I might know someone...” The jeweler said after a moment of hesitation.

“Who?” Paul asked.

“Well, they work quite literally across the city…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some scientist's they are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyo guys! The last chalter, this one and the next chapter were written months ago, I'm just spacing out the updates, so don't worry about those requests! I'm still working on them absjfn

The jeweler had a brother who rented out warehouses not too far from the jewelry shop and was currently renting space to a pair of scientists that could possibly aid them in their problem.

 

As soon as they exited the shop, on the promise that the jeweler would call his brother immediately to inform the scientists of their situation, the four of them were greeted by the familiar car of their Roadie.

After quickly filling in Mal about the incident in the restaurant (and assuring him they were all alright, or as close to the definition of the word in Ringo’s case) Paul was quick to give the Roadie the address (hastily scribbled onto a torn receipt) and they were soon speeding down the road.

 

The four were quick to exit the vehicle, Mal decided to stay in the car, waving them off and hoping for the best.

Out of the three warehouses in the large lot, they were instructed to go to the smallest of them.

Outside their designated warehouse a short, rounded man in a white coat seemed to be waiting for them. He gave them a wave as they walked in closer.

"Hello! We've been expecting you!" The blonde haired man greeted as he gestured to the door behind him.

"Please come in!" 

Ringo entered first with the others close behind.

 They were met with a decent sized room, filled with shades of gray and blue from unknown and strange machines covering the walls, large, tall and bulky looking ones.

"Foot! They're here!" The man yelled out as they walked further in.

"Foot?" John repeated under his breath at the name. A tall, dark-haired man turned the corner, also dressed in a white lab coat.

 

Yes, these men were scientists.

 

"Ah, so which of you is the one with the ring stuck on him?" Foot asked.

"That'd be me," Ringo answered as he pulled up his hand to show the large jewel.

"So which of these are you going to use?" George asked as he walked further into the building with the others. Foot seemed to tense up a bit as Paul leaned in closer to a panel of buttons attaches to one of the machines.

"Please, don't mess with anything if you will, we aren't very funded and can't afford replacements." Foot said as he shooed Paul from his place.

"But we'll be using our newest one though,” the shorter man chirped up from his place between George and John, who were examining some colored vials with interest.

"Algernon! Could you plug it in?" Foot said to the blonde man, more of a demand and less of a question.

_ Algernon _ walked to the back of the room, where a tall grey machine stood.

 

"Usually I wouldn’t agree to use something so new like this on something so trivial as removing a ring, but this is the first real excuse we have to try it out," Foot muttered as he walked to the side of the machine, adjusting some dials and flicking a switch while Algernon worked on the plugs. 

 

“What does it do?” Paul asked as he walked around it, examining every inch of the machine.

“Well, it'll expand the molecules of the ring, the ring will grow bigger, causing it to drop off,” Algernon explained as he appeared to struggle with plugging the cords into multiple outlets.

“What’s your electricity bill like?” George questioned as he watched on.

“Long,” Algernon simply answered.

"Is it safe?" John asked as he looked at wires hanging off of it with skepticism.

"Yeah, this thing is rather intimidating looking," Paul said as he peered into the opening in the middle of the machine.

"Of course! All your friend has to do is place his arm in this space, we'll connect him to these clips to ensure that the effects-"

 

Now, seeing as Ringo was the one who would be used on the machine, you would think he'd at least pay attention like the other three were as Foot gestured around the large piece of metal. Instead, he was drawn more to the control panel that Foot had just adjusted.

While the others were distracted the drummer took a few steps towards it. 

Some buttons blinked at him, the dials were large and suddenly he had the urge to mess with them.

This sudden urge even took the drummer himself by surprise, as he looked around to see the others still distracted, he reached up and lightly twisted one of the dials up a level and-

"Algernon! What's taking you so long?" Foot yelled at the other scientist, causing Ringo to recoil and take a step back from the panel as if he had been shaken out of a trance.

“It's the plugs!” Algernon sputtered.

Ringo joined the others finally as they watched the shorter scientist tangle himself into the cords.

“Will it work?” Ringo asked and Foot turned around immediately, looking almost offended

“Of course it will work! I expect it to work! It’s from America, you see,” Foot ranted as he put a hand around Ringo’s shoulders and pushed him forward “Now, let's get you set up.”

 

They had removed his suit jacket (revealing the purple bruises that were still healing) and put Ringo’s arm with the strange ring into the opening of the machine, strapping his wrist tightly into cold metal clamps that would have been used to hold up other materials.

They clipped a few other smaller clamps onto his fingers. For what? They didn't say.

The drummer was soon left to his own devices as the scientists ushered the others behind a barrier of sandbags where the main controls sat.

“Will he still be able to drum?” George muttered as he peered over the bags. 

“We’ll have to find a new drummer, think Pete would be willing to come back?” Paul attempted to joke as he and the others kept a vigilant eye on their drummer.

“Ya know, I used to handle the old sticks and drums myself when I was younger,” Algernon piped up, and proceeded to slap a nearby chair sporadically, with absolutely no rhythm.

The others simply watched on, unamused.

Ringo listened in from afar, toying with the ends of his untucked dress shirt as he waited for the machine to turn on.

“Alright then! Prepare yourself!” Foot called out as he nodded to Algernon to turn on the machine.

“5...4...3...” Algernon began as he rested a hand on the switch. Foot cleared his throat impatiently, as the others looked on exasperated.

Algernon sighed, “Fine... 3, 2, 1.” And flipped the switch.

A high pitch sound began to emit from the machine and steadily grew in volume. Ringo could hear something moving inside the machine, like a piece of metal throwing itself around in the metal box, as a few lights flickered on and off.

For a few seconds nothing appeared to happen, Ringo stared down at his hand, behind him the others stared at him.

The only thing that told Ringo that the machine was doing  _ anything _ was the feeling of warmth growing around his hand, the temperature rose ever so slightly, but nothing uncomfortable. 

Ringo would even dare say that it was an almost  _ pleasant _ warmth compared to the cold atmosphere of the lab.

“Anything?” Foot called out after a minute of silence, a pen and clipboard now in hand.

“Nothing,” Ringo replied as he shifted his weight onto his right leg in an effort to make himself comfortable.

Foot looked confused for a second as he scribbled something down before turning to his partner. 

“Amplify the power.”

Algernon turned the dial-up slightly.

The effect was almost immediate. The air around his arm grew hotter like he was holding his arm above a fire.

“And now?” Foot called back to him.

 

Before Ringo could answer that nothing was happening  _ something _ did, in fact, begin to happen. The ring located on his pinky began to hum.

“Well, one of my rings is shaking,” Ringo replied as he looked over his shoulder to the others.

“Huh, shaking…” The scientist looked down to make a quick note. “Wait, one of them? Which one isn't shaking?” 

“The one that's stuck!” Ringo answered as he was quick to notice his pinky ring begin to vibrate more each passing second.

The other Beatles shared looks of worry.

“You okay over there Ritchie?” Paul called out as the two scientists talked to each other, using vocabulary they couldn't even think of trying to understand.

“Yeah, it’s…Just a bit hot,” Ringo answered truthfully as he flexed his now clammy hand in the heat of the machine.

His pinky ring continued to vibrate at a steady pace, while the ring he rather desperately wanted off seemed to remain unaffected.

That's when he finally noticed something.

The vibrating ring was getting  _ warmer. _

 

If you were to leave a car with leather seats in the scorching sun for even an hour, you’d come back to seats extremely hot to the touch, feeling like if you placed your hand on it for more than a second you’d be burned.

The reason Ringo was suddenly reminded of this was that his pinky ring started to considerably warm up and suddenly there was a spike in heat.

It was  _ burning _ him. Similar to how those hot leather seats would.

The drummer hissed through gritted teeth at the heat collecting itself into one specific spot. His other arm grabbed tightly at his own wrist as he reflexively pulled back, unfortunately for Ringo, the straps were doing an excellent job at keeping his hand attached to the machine.

Ringo pulled again harder. He was unsuccessful from freeing himself but the pull had him jostle the machine ever so slightly.

“Is the ring being affected in any way now?” Foot called out, seeming to chose to ignore Ringo’s struggles.

_ “No!”  _ Ringo yelled back, voice audibly cracking.

“You still holding up alright?” George questioned from across the room.

The drummer answered back by simply falling to his knees as he pulled at his hand.

The others were by his side in a blink of an eye.

“Ritchie, what's wrong?” Paul was quick to ask as he bent over close to their fallen drummer.

“My pinky ring is  _ burning _ me,” Ringo managed out through gritted teeth and watery eyes.

John let out a quiet _ “what” _ of disbelief.

George was the first to attempt to untie the straps holding their drummer, flinching back ever so slightly as he suddenly felt the heat from the machine. Paul was quick to help as soon as he realized George was struggling to undo it.

“What are you all doing? We’re still experimenting!” Foot yelled out at them. 

“You prats! Turn off this blasted thing! It’s burning him!” John spun around to yell at the scientists, though he didn’t make a move to go at them as to not leave their drummer’s side.

Algernon actually went to turn the machine off but was stopped by Foot swatting his hands away from the controls.

“What? Can't you see that-” 

“ _ Turn it off!"  _ John interrupted the scientist, a now outraged fire burning in his eyes.

Foot opened his mouth to protest, but Algernon was quick to press the buttons that shut off the machine.

The machine shut down with a whir as soon as Paul and George managed to free Ringo from the unintentional trap. 

Ringo found himself hunched over on the cold tiled floor, quickly removing the hot pinky ring and tossing it to the side where it landed with a tiny  _ 'plink' _ .

The area where he had worn his ring was a bright red now, the pain slowly lessening until it was a constant stinging.

Ringo blinked back the pain induced tears as Algernon rushed up to him, a small red kit in hand.

“Well, it doesn’t look too bad,” he began quietly as he leaned in closer, not seeming to notice the glares sent his way by the other three Beatles. "Nothing worse than a first degree burn, think of it like a sunburn," Algernon assessed.

Foot suddenly appeared by the group, a small box in one hand and a short metal wand in the other. He stood by the abandoned ring on the floor and waved the wand over it and hummed when it gave off a small beep.

Foot then stepped closer to the drummer still on the floor, ignoring the heated glares sent his way and a rather protective step towards him from George.

Foot waved the metal rod around the Ringo’s hand, his mouth pressed into a firm line as he glanced at the box into his hand. Foot's eyes widened as soon as the wand passed over the jeweled ring.

“Amazing!” Foot yelled out as he jogged back to where he had left his keyboard.

“What?” Ringo dared to ask as he was helped to his feet by Paul.

“This machine emits a certain amount of radiation,” Foot began and the four Beatles took a collective step away from it. “Don’t worry, it's nothing much,  usually gone within a day,” Foot added before anyone could say a thing to him.

“Your ring on the floor indicates the expected amount of radiation but the one stuck on your hand shows no sign of anything!” Foot gushed as Algernon added an “Oh my!”.

“Even material like lead, which is used to block out radiation, usually has a remnant of radiation within it! But there is absolutely nothing on the ring!” 

“And?” George remarked as Foot spun to him.

“And?  _ AND?  _ No other known material does this! Whatever this ring is made of is completely  _ unknown _ to the scientific world,” Foot continued as he took a step forward towards the drummer.

“I must have it! This discovery could be groundbreaking!” 

 

"I'd let you have it if I can get it off," Ringo muttered as he gently ran his thumb over the small burn on his finger.

"Frankly I don't think you deserve it after this mess." Paul scoffed as Foot gave him a glare.

"Well, then we should find an alternative way to remove that ring then..."

Was all Foot said before  _ grabbing _ Ringo by the arm and pulling him along to who knows where.

Ringo flinched slightly as Foot' s hold pushed down onto his bruises.

Today was  _ not _ his day.

"What the hell are you going to do now?" George was quick to walk after them.

 

"Remove that ring," was all Foot said, oddly calm.

_ Everyone _ got a bad feeling from that simple statement.

 

"Like hell, you will," John responded as he followed behind the trio to grab the back of Ringo's dress shirt. Said drummer began to panic internally.

 

"I need this ring, if you don't let go you _ will _ face the consequences of a man desperate for funding." Foot gave John a cold stare.

John proceeded to give him a heated one "And what are YOU going to do about it  _ Foot, _ " he bit back, clearly not scared.

 

Foot proceeded to pull out a very small, silver gun.

 

"Care to find out?"

 

_ Everyone _ did not expect that.

Ringo visibly began to panic as everyone reacted.

Paul quickly shot his hands up into the air as George froze mid-step. "We don't need to resort to this y' know," George tried to placate. Algernon himself looked ready to bolt.

John stood his ground, refusing to let go of Ritchie's shirt.

"I advise you to back off," Foot continued, voice low and directed mostly to John.

John still didn't move.

"I'll shoot him I swear!" Foot began loudly and somehow Ringo's eyes widened even more

"I'm sure it would be easier to get a ring off a corpse anyway, it wouldn't struggle," Foot continued as his grip on Ringo tightened.

“Release him or _ I’ll _ shoot!” A slightly accented voice yelled out.

Everyone turned towards the new voice to see a lady, dressed in an all-pink dress coat and pants, holding a much bigger gun towards Foot.

 

"And I have a dead-eye shot," she continues as she glares at the scientist.

Foot's cold expression suddenly morphed into one of fear.

"Ahme!" Paul exclaimed in surprise as she took a daring step forward.

"Now, let go of him and we'll be on our way," Ahme told Foot, now effectively distracted as he is about to argue with her, doesn't notice George slowly moving up until he grabs the drummer by the shoulder and ends of his shirt, effectively pulling Ringo away as they stumble away from the mad scientist.

The Beatles were quick to make their way towards Ahme, who took a few steps forward to allow them to get to the only exit.

"You can't leave!" Foot shouted as the hand holding the gun began to shake as his anger grew.

"Well, you can't stop us with that little thing," Paul dared to answer back as he stood directly behind Ahme for protection.

 

Foot pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Foot' s eyes widened as soon as he registered the pathetic little  _ 'click'  _ that indicated the gun had stalled.

Ahme, realizing an opportunity to escape had presented itself, pushed The Beatles out the door.

All bolted across the lot and to their car.

Paul was the first to reach it, crashing into the driver-side window and startling Mal with his sudden appearance.

"Mal! We need to go  _ now!" _

The other three Beatles were quick to enter the back. First Ringo being pushed in by George, then John who quickly shut the door behind him.

Paul was about to enter the front seat when he realized the lack of space in the car.

"Wait! We don't have a seat for Ahme!" 

Ahme simply shook her head as she peered over her shoulder for any sign of the scientists.

"Don't worry, I have a ride, I'll stop by your home to finish explaining the importance of that ring, just go!" Ahme explained as she headed off in her own direction.

"But don't you need the address?" Mal called out to her retreating form.

"I already know the way!" She answered back.

"What? How…" Mal began to question as Paul slammed the car door behind him.

"Now is not the time, just drive!" John yelled.

 

They  _ may  _ have driven past the speeding limit the entire ride back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed! I love reading your comments

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys liked my little prologue to the movie, i really wanted to include Eppy even for a little bit.


End file.
